


Waterfalls

by valderys



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:59:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/pseuds/valderys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected glimpse of beauty gives Pippin a new outlook on life and relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waterfalls

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever smutty fic! Written back in 2004. Before that I'd only ever faded to black, so I apologise for any OTTness there may be :)
> 
> The song quoted is from 'A Conspiracy Unmasked' in the Lord of the Rings: the Fellowship of the Ring.

Pippin caught his breath, stunned at the beauty of the sight before him. So beautiful, and so unexpected. He had wandered away from camp, just for a little air, and to quieten his restlessness. Silly really, here they were in Lórien, possibly the most peaceful place in the whole of Middle-earth, and yet he was still restless. It made no sense. But in his wanderings he had paid no attention to where he was going, one graceful tree looking much like another to him, until it was with a little shock that he had come upon this dell, hidden away in a mossy dip, like a secret. Perhaps it should not have been a shock that someone else had also done the same. Then he sighed a little, faintly, oh so faintly, and took one unwilling step backwards, knowing he should not be here, should not be looking, and most certainly, should not be finding the sight so beautiful.

A twig snapped under his foot, tickling him, and the noise echoed round the small clearing, bouncing off the rock of the small mossy outcrop, and causing him to hold his breath in case the other had heard. Luckily he seemed oblivious and, smiling, Pippin shook his head. After all, why should he have heard anything? The waterfall might be small, but it made a pleasant sound of its own as it splashed and chattered its way down the rocks, down to the banks of the brook, down the smooth flanks and taut muscles of… Pippin swallowed, and wrenched his eyes away.

An unexpected glimpse was one thing, but this dishonest staring was quite another. He had no permission, no licence for such an invasion. But behind his now closed eyelids, the image lingered still – the round curve of the rump, the flat planes of the shoulder blades, the taut stomach, pale and shimmering with water, running in rivulets down to…

Pippin bit his lip unexpectedly hard, and the pain brought his eyes flying open. The object of his fascination was bending to duck his head under the running stream, and his back glimmered in a sudden shaft of pale winter sunlight, gilding the flesh to golden cream. Pippin felt an unexpected tightening of his own flesh, even as he shivered all over. Then he felt himself flush hot, ashamed of his body's responses. This wasn't right. This wasn't fair. Pippin owed him more than this. Owed him more than a casual sudden lust for fine flesh, and silken skin, however the light spilled over the lines and angles of that body glistening in the water, however hard Pippin's heart was pounding now, however clammy his hands… Merry deserved more than this from him. More, or much, much less.

Pippin turned and stumbled away, unexpected tears pricking at his eyelids, and a sadness for which he had no name holding him in its thrall, when joyfully, as clear and pure as the thready notes of a lark, he heard Merry raise his voice in song. He stopped and stood still then, caught and held once more, this time in the unexpected sweetness of the moment, for it seemed to him that seldom had he heard Merry sing of late, or indeed any of the company, excepting those laments that had seemed fitting to compose for Gandalf, and this was as far from a lament as any hobbit might wish for.

_Sing hey! for the bath at the close of day  
that washes the weary mud away!  
A loon is he that will not sing:  
O! Water Fresh is a noble thing!_

And as he listened, it came to Pippin that he'd heard this little song before, sung it himself all those many weeks ago, and the smell of Merry's cooking from the little kitchen at Crickhollow came flooding back to him, and the high unexpected pitch of Freddy's laughter, and the feel of good slippery suds between his toes as he scrubbed in that tub and sang with Frodo… Pippin stopped and leaned against a tree, the silver bark smooth under his hand, and found himself weeping bitter wrenching sobs. For Gandalf, for that last peaceful time they'd all had in the Shire, for simple pleasures long since gone – for the naive hobbit he had been then, who had thought only of the great Adventure they would all have, and not of all it would cost. Of a time when his dearest cousin was still a big brother to be looked up to, and not the person he clutched tightest in the dark of the night, or held when he at last shook with his own silent tears, or who was always too warm and kicked in his sleep, or who smelled of pipeweed and cinnamon sticks, and curved into Pippin's own body as though he were made to fit there.

_O! Sweet is the sound of falling rain…_

The beloved voice broke off, and Pippin scrubbed at his eyes fiercely, suddenly unwilling to show his weakness, not if that made Merry unhappy again, not when he was singing so cheerfully for once, sounding so happy and carefree. It occurred to him that he hadn't seen Merry carefree for such a long time now – even when they were home, Merry had responsibilities, looked after things, not the least of which was Pippin, and, oh, he did not want to add further to Merry's troubles. So he looked up, a smile starting to curve his lips, a jest on his tongue, forgetting where they were, forgetting what had turned him away in the first place, thinking only to prolong the moment that so reminded him of happier times, and so it was with a little shock, like a bell chiming in the deepest places, that his cousin's beauty struck him all over again. Merry stood half in, and half out of the silver stream that played down from the little rocky outcrop, a shaft of sunlight on his hair now, darkened with moisture, the curls pushed back from the high forehead, still loose on his neck. Water dripped slowly from those strands onto shoulders that suddenly tensed, showing their muscle, and the fine hairs that lightly downed his chest gleamed russet in the sunshine. The words died on Pippin's lips, and he caught his breath again, even as his eyes caught Merry's, who looked surprised, as well he might, discovering his cousin and dearest friend seemingly spying on him as he bathed.

Pippin's face seared with red heat, and he wrenched himself away. Confused fragments of thoughts chased themselves across his mind, broken sentences and half-formed apologies, unrealised longings and childhood memories, all forming a whirling unspoken turmoil in his breast. This was his Merry he was so lewdly staring at, his Merry whom he had tagged after, and pestered endlessly and stolen apples with, in whom he had confided after his first kiss. The one who had laughed with him after his first tumble, and agreed that weren't lasses wonderful, and popped a cherry in his mouth in token? Pippin remembered he had soundly tickled Merry for that little joke. How could he be thinking such things now, thinking of his dearest friend with such casual lust? It wasn't appropriate. It wasn't _right_.

And then he nearly jumped out of his skin, although why he should have been surprised, he didn't know, when a familiar hand grasped his arm and a beloved voice spoke close to his ear.

"Pippin? Are you all right?"

Of course Merry would follow him, of course he would want to know what was wrong with him, he looked after everyone, Merry did, and so Pippin had spoiled his cousin's fragile moment of cheer after all, and somehow that was worse than all the rest.

"Oh, you know me… I'm fine, Merry, fine."

And at heart, he was really. He didn't even know why he had been hit so hard with melancholy, unless it was this place, Lórien of the trees, beautiful but so sad somehow, like an endless farewell. But Merry didn't know that, and so Pippin turned to him and smiled widely, to prove that he was fine, to prevent Merry from worrying, and unexpectedly caught a look in those grey eyes that stopped the breath in his throat. Merry had eyes like storm clouds, how could Pippin never have noticed that? And he was standing there in naught but a pair of breeches and still dripping water, having run over so quickly his braces dangled, and the water was trickling down his chest until it darkly dampened the waistband of his trousers, and…

"I'm fine, Merry, really."

When had it become so hard to meet those eyes? And when had the touch of his cousin's hand on his arm burned quite so hot upon his skin? Hopelessly then, Pippin wanted to escape, to order his thoughts, to bring the tatters of his confusion under control. Merry would be horrified if he knew what Pippin was thinking, what he was almost imagining, and he suddenly desperately wanted to have things as they were just a few moments ago, before he had caught that forbidden glimpse of beauty under the waterfall. He longed for the old Merry back, who would ruffle his hair, and call him Pipsqueak, who made the best pancakes in the Shire. He wanted to be comfortable again.

But Merry didn't let go, instead he lifted his other hand and brushed it across Pippin's cheek, a feathery touch, before pausing by his eye, where a gentle knuckle stroked away the remaining evidence of tears. Pippin shivered, a thrill travelling through his body, like a silver note of music. He couldn't help it, even knowing Merry would feel his reaction, and would perhaps find it strange, he couldn't stop himself. And then a gentle pressure on his cheek turned his face towards Merry's, and a thumb traced a fiery trail down his jaw, and he stared into eyes as dark as cloudy skies, eyes that turned even darker as Pippin watched, the gaze solemn and with no hint of the usual good humour. In fact, Merry looked unusually serious, and Pippin found his heart beating faster, thumping in his chest so hard he was surprised it couldn't be heard resounding like a bell. His mouth parted a little, although he was so disordered he had no idea what he would say, and as he did so Merry's thumb slipped to just touch the corner of his mouth.

They both froze. They stood so close it was unmistakable. Pippin was desperate to stop the reaction that so accidental a touch had wrought in him, a tremor of heat that warmed him all the way to his toes, flaring like tinder under flame. And Merry? Why had Merry frozen? Pippin could hardly think, his pulse was drumming so hard in his veins, but it seemed to him that this wasn't his Merry, his ordinary everyday Merry, with his quips, and his insouciant breeziness, and his casual wry grin. This was almost a stranger, with dark molten eyes, and a serious look that was almost a frown, and with fingers that trembled on his cheek… Fingers that trembled?

And in that blinding second a hundred casual memories cascaded across his mind, and Pippin remembered – sledging in the snow, and falling off laughing into Merry's arms, and feeling him catch and hold on and bury his nose in Pippin's curls; dancing with lass after lass at his birthday party, swirling around in the partner dances, and Merry looking on and watching, just watching, with that crooked grin that never wavered; taking a bite of a just liberated apple, and throwing it to Merry, who had paused for just a little before biting in his turn; waking in the morning at Bag End, having crawled into Merry's bed the night before, to find him gone, and the quilt cold…

He must have gasped, or made some other reaction, he didn't know. But Pippin felt the fingers flutter on his cheek, and knew somehow that they were going to be removed, that Merry would ruffle his hair, or make a joke, or turn away to fetch the rest of his clothes, and this moment would vanish in the sunlight as though it had never been, like the reflections in the crystal water, a glimpse of beauty, but no more to be held on to than a dream. And then they would go back to being comfortable, and Pippin would never have to worry again, because his Merry would just be his Merry, and they would have their Adventure and then go back to the Shire, and find a nice lass each and settle down, and Pippin would never know…

So he moved. Just an inch or two, sliding his chin into Merry's hand, and bringing the thumb, that was still resting against the corner of Pippin's mouth, bringing that thumb onto his lips, and sliding within his still parted mouth. It was almost rough against his tongue and tasted of leaves, Pippin thought, as he closed his mouth gently, and lightly ran a tentative lick along the pad. His hands were cold, but his body was burning hot, and his eyes ached with the urge to blink, but he stopped himself, not wanting to look away from Merry for even a second, in case, in case… He didn't know.

Merry gasped, a sudden sharp intake of breath, and his eyes widened. Pippin felt a horrible pit suddenly open up in his stomach. What if he'd misjudged the situation? What if he was wrong? How would things between them ever be the same? Could he pass it off as a joke? Could he perhaps pretend he was about to tickle Merry? That this was merely distraction for a bigger prank? Could he – and then he realised that Merry's other hand had clutched his arm painfully tight, and that he was almost leaning on Pippin, as though his legs were about to give way. That's a good sign, Pippin thought, isn't it, isn't it? And he could have laughed at himself, he was so unsure, he who prided himself on his way with lasses, who had never lacked for offers, who'd laughed about it with Merry even, on nights free and sweet and long ago.

Then Pippin realised that Merry had stepped closer, and his breath started to come faster as the hand on his arm loosened and travelled lightly – a caress, surely? – up to his shoulder and tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck. Cool damp fingers softly brushed against skin even as there was a reassuringly firm tugging on his hair, and Pippin found he couldn't stop his reactions, didn't even want to now, and at their touch he shuddered and pulled lightly at the thumb still in his mouth. Merry gasped again, and his breath hitched, and Pippin realised he was no longer worried he'd read the signs awry, instead he was exultant, and scared, and eager, all at the same time, and utterly confused in yet another way. Then Merry was so close Pippin couldn't focus any more, but he could feel the heat radiating off the trembling body in front of him, and he could smell the pipeweed in Merry's hair, all the stronger for being damp, and then he could smell the cinnamon on Merry's breath as he bent just a little, such a very little really, not like a lass, no, not at all, and then the thumb was removed and trailed a line of moisture down Pippin's neck, cold and wonderful all at once.

Merry hovered then, both hands resting lightly on Pippin's shoulders, and Pippin could feel warm breath on his face, and thought – he's worried about this, he's giving me time to change my mind. And he realised that he didn't want time – time might mean something would come between them, time might mean they would come back to themselves and be sensible, time might make them _stop_ – and he found he didn't want to wait, didn't want to be sensible, and certainly didn't want to stop. He wanted his Merry, in every way, suddenly ached to hold him, and so he reached that last distance between them himself, to press his lips eagerly against Merry's, fumbling a little in his urgency, and blushing like it was his first time. And why not, Pippin thought distractedly, for in a way it was.

Merry's lips were cool and smooth under his own, and Pippin felt like he was on fire with wanting, that he might explode from need. He brought his own arms up and wrapped them fiercely around the familiar, and yet also totally strange, body in front of him. Merry grunted a little and Pippin felt it too, deep down in his guts, and laughed into Merry's mouth for the sheer joy of it all. And then as quickly as that they were kissing for real, hungrily, fiercely, their tongues entangling and sliding, teeth clicking a little in their urgency. Pippin slid his hands up Merry's back, feeling the muscles shift and tense under the skin, and goose bumps follow where he stroked. His shirt was getting wet, pressed hard against Merry's chest, but was warming as it did so until Pippin could almost feel they were merged there, one creature almost, and not separated by flesh and clothes and the knowledge that things would never quite be the same again.

He broke the kiss, gasping, and Merry tensed. But Pippin didn't want to think, certainly didn't want Merry to think, he did entirely too much thinking in Pippin's opinion, and this was no time for that anyway, he wanted to _feel_… So he pulled Merry a little closer, delighting in the strength he could show, knowing that Merry could pull back just as hard, if he wished, and began to nibble along Merry's jaw and down his neck. It drove him wild, surely Merry would… He trembled in his hands, and Pippin felt a fierce satisfaction. This was what life was about, heat and strength, and joy and love. This was what reminded him he was so wonderfully alive.

He reached up then and tangled his own hands in Merry's hair, pulling his head down into the curve of his shoulder, the wet strands soft and springy in his fingers, and then he arched his back as the glorious feel of Merry's mouth travelled whisper soft over his skin. He found he'd moved then, and could feel the whole warm length of his cousin's body against him, hard and solid and, oh, as excited as he was. The light brush of heat through rough fabric was so gloriously charged, the friction nearly causing him to buck, but he contented himself with pushing in even harder and rubbing himself slowly, agonisingly slowly, against answering heat. Merry's hip was solid and firm, supporting him as he pushed, and Pippin found he ached to be closer yet. He took his hands from Merry's hair, stroking through their tangles as he let go, and moved them to Merry's waist, the rough wool of his breeches prickling his fingers, the damp fabric clinging to the skin, and then Pippin _pulled_… Oh yes, that was… He moaned then, his mouth still on Merry's neck, and found he had bit down, harder than he'd meant to, as their bodies ground together. It was Merry's turn to arch his back and heave a great gulp of air, his eyes unfocused and dark as Pippin peered up at him anxiously.

Then awareness came back into those beloved features, as Merry looked at him, and a dawning smile spread wide, but not the familiar crooked grin, slightly knowing, slightly hidden, no, this was like sunshine after showers, or rainbows after storms. It hit Pippin under his heart, like a blow, that look. It was so wonderingly surprised, and yet so happy, that he reached in to kiss it, before he wept again for sheer joy.

And then tentatively Pippin felt his braces being pushed off his shoulders, and fingers fumbling between them, reaching for buttons, and with a grasp only slightly more sure he reached to help. Their hands tangled and Merry laughed a little, which set Pippin off too, and so they were both giggling madly as Pippin reached for the buttons on Merry's breeches, just as his shirt loosened and slipped a little off his shoulders. But the casual touch had a far more gratifying effect. As Pippin brushed the unmistakable bulge in his trousers Merry's laughter hitched and died, replaced with molten wordless need, and Pippin abandoned any attempts to be subtle. He pulled again, and the button popped, only one, Merry had dressed hurriedly after all, and the imprisoning fabric slipped down and away. Pippin could at last feast his eyes on all that beauty, just like under the waterfall. That casual accidental glimpse that had set all this in motion.

And then Pippin realised he had a longing, a stupid one maybe, and certainly no more urgent than the aching need in his own flesh, but he saw no reason why they both couldn't have what they wanted. Hurriedly he let his shirt slide to the ground and quickly fumbled his breeches open before stepping out of them, and turning, would have grasped Merry's hand, but for the arrested look in his cousin's eyes. Pippin became very conscious then, as Merry's eyes raked him up and down, and he would have squirmed a little if it didn't seem so ridiculous, to be shy _now_.

"You are so beautiful, Pip."

There was wonder in Merry's voice, and pride, and perhaps a little uncertainty, as though he couldn't really believe his eyes, and that made Pippin smile once more. It wasn't often he could rattle Merry. If this was all it took, perhaps they should have done this years ago? And then Pippin stepped closer, as the implications of that sank in, and he wondered just how long Merry had been waiting, and hurting maybe, as he himself had carried on carelessly though life, completely oblivious.

He stepped closer yet, until their bodies was almost touching, but not quite, and the evidence of their arousal was pushed up against warm bellies, causing both to take a breath. And then Pippin leaned in and kissed Merry, his own Merry, thoroughly and deliberately, in mute apology for all those foolish blind years. But as Merry began to reach for him in return he broke away and grinned wickedly.

"Oh no, you don't."

Consternation, and then worry, flitted across Merry's face, in quick succession, before settling on suspicion, as Pippin continued to grin at him, with _that_ look. He knew Merry recognised it. He was sure he smiled like this before they raided for apples, or swapped the sugar for the salt, or set up a flour bomb above a door.

"Catch me if you can!"

And he ran off, laughing madly. Not stopping to see Merry's face, sure he was ready to wring Pippin's neck, but bubbling with glee at this joke of all jokes, and with a purpose in mind. Anyway, who said he had to make this easy for Merry? Lasses teased, didn't they? Why couldn't lads?

But he didn't run very fast, or very far. He could hear Merry's footfalls behind him, and the harsh pant of his breath, and Pippin could feel his own breath coming faster in anticipation, as he skidded into the stream and abruptly spun round. Merry was just a step behind, as Pippin knew he would be, and he was glowering fit to turn a troll to stone. Pippin was unsure, but only for a second, as he realised that perhaps now wasn't the best timing for such pranks after all? But then he grabbed Merry, certain he knew what would improve his cousin's mood, and despite his yipped sound of sudden protest, grinned and swung them both under the waterfall.

The water was shockingly cool on his overheated skin, but, oh, so delicious, as it ran down his back and sides. His chest was warm against Merry's, and he reached now to put his arms back where they belonged, and pull him closer. Merry looked like he was about to complain, and Pippin decided he would have to do something about that, so he leant in and kissed him, quickly, before trailing his lips in little nibbles down his jaw and neck, until he nestled in the hollow at the base of his throat. Merry made an incoherent noise and Pippin smiled into his skin, before licking the moisture there, beaded from the stream. Then he found he didn't want to think any more as Merry's arms went round him, and ran cool fingers down his back, following the path of the water, until they cupped his rump, and squeezed. He found himself pulled closer, and shifted a little until his own hardness was pressed comfortably – oh more than comfortably! – against Merry's, and then all was soft heated skin, and delicious friction, and cool water running down his hot flesh until he was dizzy and aching with need.

When Merry pulled back a little Pippin made a small sound of protest until the pressure from his cousin's body was replaced by a hand grasping firmly and then stroking in such a way that Pippin gasped aloud. This, oh this, this was what he needed. How could he have lived this long without ever discovering how wonderful Merry was? Oh… And he turned his head blindly into the firm rock of his cousin's body as Merry continued to bring him, and stroke him and oh, now, he needed it now. Pippin held on and dug his nails in hard as he reached his peak, and little stars shone, or maybe it was rainbows in the air, and not flying water at all.

Pippin came back to himself feeling like he'd bathed in gold, and gone to sleep in silver. Little prisms of light made their way across his vision, and he sighed in utter contentment. But soon enough he became aware of the water running coolly down his back, and swirling around his calves, and that he had his face hidden in Merry's shoulder, who was still holding them both, and he raised his head, shaking it to clear the wet hair out of his eyes. Only then did he notice the red marks his nails had left on Merry's arms. Oh, poor Merry, Pippin thought, feeling guilty that he had so lost himself in the moment that he had hurt his dearest friend. He made to let go, but instead staggered bonelessly and very nearly fell, his knees seemingly no longer willing to hold him upright. Merry exclaimed as he desperately tried to hold up both their weights but then staggered in his turn, his foot slipping on an unstable stone. There was time for Pippin to feel a moment of alarm, not unmixed with horrified merriment, before they hit the water together with an enormous splash, and he went under, choking and coughing, unable to do more than flail helplessly in the enormity of the surprise, the waterfall pouring down indifferently onto his upturned face.

Spitting water, all golden glow gone, Pippin dragged himself out of the flow and sat up. Merry was lying on the bank laughing, his arms wrapped around his shaking body, water droplets flying off his curls as he shook his head at Pippin. How dare Merry laugh at him? After everything they'd just done? That wasn't how it was supposed to be! Indignant, Pippin splashed at him, but that just made Merry laugh harder. He tried to frown at him, but instead found himself grinning a little too, Merry's humour was as infectious as ever, and besides, he supposed he must look pretty funny, after all.

Giving up the fight to make Merry behave, Pippin crawled the remaining couple of feet to join him on the bank. Leaning his head back on Merry's thigh he sighed a little, as he felt a hand start to run through his wet hair, and then he heard Merry slowly sigh too.

"I'm sorry, Merry," he ventured.

"I know, Pip. You always are."

There was a comfortable pause, and Pippin felt Merry shift a little. He knew he was looking at him, just like a thousand times before, except this time… this time was different. It made the pit of Pippin's stomach flutter.

"Pip? What on earth possessed you to go for the waterfall? I thought we were doing very well as we were."

"Oh…" It felt silly now, and Pippin wriggled a little in embarrassment. "It was just that you looked so beautiful in the waterfall before, I wanted you back in it."

"Oh."

Merry's hand continued to stroke his hair with a soothing motion and Pippin smiled in contentment as he felt his eyes begin to drift shut.

"Pippin?"

"Hmm…"

"Not to be a grump, but technically you haven't had me at all, waterfall or no."

Pippin's eyes flew open and he turned his head a little and stared. Merry was grinning at him, leaning up on one elbow, and Pippin felt an answering smile well up from deep within. He had been a little greedy, hadn't he? He sat up a little more and stretched luxuriously, and heard his cousin's breathing deepen. It made him smile again.

"Well, we can't have that, now can we?"

Wickedly he turned and placed his hand on Merry's thigh, just shy of anything interesting, his fingers lightly resting in springy curls, and watched Merry's eyes darken with heat, and his smile fade to longing.

"Don't worry, Merry," Pippin said, happiness bubbling up, as the knowledge of how much things really had changed began to paint the future with glorious possibilities, "I'll look after you…"


End file.
